


Ask Me Next Time

by zahrawrites



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Hurt Misha, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Violence, Worried Jensen, supportive jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahrawrites/pseuds/zahrawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the lack of jensen/misha hurt/comfort. </p><p>(also because I'm cockles trash af)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask Me Next Time

It's almost 2am when his cell rings. Rolling over, he grabs it from the bedside table and answers the call without even checking who it is.

"It's Misha." Jared's voice comes crackling through the cell.

...

"Are you fucking with me?" He asks after Jared relays everything to him, his voice bordering on rude, because their pranks can be extreme but this is a first. 

Jared denies the insinuation, adding that Misha's in the hospital and that they should probably make their way there. Jensen's closing his hotel room door just as Jared claps him on the back. He texts a quick message to Clif to meet them out front and then to his wife to inform her of the situation, then pockets his phone.

"Did the cops get anything on those fuckers?"

Jared shakes his head.

"Not as far as I know. They're still looking into it."

" _Fuck_."

"Calm down. He'll be fine."

"I shoulda gone with him."

"He knows you don't like that sort of thing." Jared says.

"He _knows_ I would've gone if he'd asked." Jensen retorts sharply, sidestepping a lady. He spots Clif, and climbs straight into the back just as he pulls up.

"Where to?"

"ER."

Clif does a double take at them in the mirror. "Everything okay?" he asks, as he checks his side mirror and pulls out to rejoin the traffic.

"Misha." Jensen says simply.

Jared tries not to notice how he's picking at the in-seam of his jeans.

"What'd he do this time?" Clif asks.

Jensen's jaw clenches as he looks out of the window as Jared explains the facts over again, every syllable hitting his ears like knives. He doesn't have time to contemplate anything though because three and a half minutes later (he counted) they're pulling up outside the ER.

"You want me to come in?" Clif asks as they clamber out.

Jensen doesn't hear Jared's reply as he beelines straight for the reception desk.

"Misha Collins." He says to the brunette shuffling some papers around.

"Family?" She asks.

"Yeah."

"Just down the corridor and to the right. He's awake."

He thanks her.

Misha's room is all the way down the end when he turns right. The blinds are drawn so he can't see in through the window but the door's open. He pauses just inside the doorway because the sight of one of his best friend's slumped in the bed like that catches him off guard. He opens his mouth to speak but the words don't come out. Misha's curled in on his side, facing the TV in the corner of the room. His back is to Jensen so it’s up to him to make his presence known.

Jared does it for him when he barges in six seconds later.

"Shit Misha, what the hell happened?" 

Misha rolls over to sit up slowly and the noise that leaves Jensen's mouth is neither voluntary nor dignified. The left side of Misha's face, under his eye, is all bruised and scraped, worrying colours staining his skin. His bottom lip is cut and violently swollen. His eyes are tired and his hair's a mess. The way he shifts, slow and testing, tell Jensen there's probably some more injuries under the hospital gown he's wearing.  

"Just your average day mugging, nothing important." Misha jokes. He tries to smile but grimaces as the pain pulses around his mouth.

Jared sits in the bedside chair as Jensen takes a few more steps into the room, eventually coming to stand beside the foot of the bed. 

"He's being serious. Answer the question." He says. It sounds harsh coming from him judging by the look on both their faces when he speaks, but Misha would dodge the question all day if he could. 

Misha shrugs and looks down at the comforter. "They just caught me off guard." The way he gives up the information makes him look so small and hurt, and completely unlike him. There's a trickle of fear running through Jensen's veins right now because Misha's not supposed to be like this, he's  _never_ supposed to be like this. 

Jared's laughter cuts awkwardly through the air. "Must be gettin' slow in your old age." he says with a playful pat against Misha's leg to try and lighten the mood. The injured man responds with a weak smile and a tentative glance up at Jensen. 

As the joke sits heavy in the room, awkward and overbearing, Jared stands and pats Jensen's shoulder on the way out, excusing himself to grab a cup of coffee from a vending machine. 

"Why didn't you ask me to come with you?" Jensen says as soon as he hears the door close behind him.

"So suddenly this is my fault?" Misha snarks right back, defences falling into place. 

Jensen shakes his head. "I'm not saying that." 

"Yes, you are. You don't think I'm capable of-" 

"I think you're more than capable-" 

"Then, what're we arguing over?" 

"The fact that you're in hospital!" Jensen's voice fills with frustration. 

"That's where you go when you get hurt!" Misha remarks, just as loudly. 

 _That’s_ when the reality of the situation hits them.

 _Hard_.

Silence slices sharply through the room, and the air is knocked out of Jensen’s lungs. He swallows an apology and sits down on the bed beside Misha’s legs. The other man’s hand is lying limp next to his thigh, the knuckles are scraped, and there are little flecks of blood patterning the tan skin in shapes of constellations that Jensen’s pretty sure Misha’s told him about hundreds of times, but been too preoccupied by the man speaking to even pay attention.

Carefully, he places his palm over Misha’s, eyes trained on where their skin meets. It’s an apology of sorts, one he hopes Misha can understand. He can feel the other man’s gaze on him, intense and unwavering, like it always is. It’s a wonder Jensen even survives being in his presence sometimes.

Misha’s skin is calloused – they’re working hands after all – but there’s evidence of care in the way the nails are clipped short and the skin is moisturised. It’s then that Misha turns his own palm up to slot his hand into Jensen’s so fucking _easily_ , making the injuries disappear from sight like a magician, like Jensen wishes _he_ could.

"I know you don’t always enjoy going to the clubs." Misha says inclining his head, voice low and accommodating in comparison to the size of the room and the space between them. "So, I don’t ask."

Jensen squeezes his hand, runs a thumb over Misha’s knuckle reassuringly before he voices his thoughts. He can’t help the small grimace when he looks up at Misha, the injuries take him by surprise.

"I would-" his voice cracks unexpectedly. He clears his throat and prepares to start again as a slight blush runs through his cheeks.

"I’d go _anywhere_ with you, Mish." He declares and he’s pretty sure he’s only talking about having a social life but it seems to tighten the atmosphere in the room a whole lot like he can’t breathe until… Misha cracks a smile. It’s small and teasing but before he can respond with something sarcastic, Jensen speaks again.

"You have to know that. Please tell me you know that."

Misha just nods, he smile widening until his stitches pull and he retracts his hand from Jensen’s to press against his lips to soothe the pain.

"Serves you right." Jensen jokes, quickly lightening the mood again. He places his hand on Misha’s thigh instead and pulls a leg up onto the bed to bend it at the knee so he can get more comfortable.

"For what? I am in _pain_ right now." Misha’s reply is slightly muffled behind his hand.

"For the smart ass comment that was gonna come outta your mouth when I was trying to be serious and shit." He replies, teasing smirk playing at his lips as Misha drops his hand to narrow his eyes at Jensen – there’s a challenge in the blue twinkle of his eyes.

"I’m pretty sure you’d be okay with my mouth-"

Jensen surges forward to place his index finger on Misha’s lips, effectively silencing him, though mindful of the injury. His gaze drops from Misha’s eyes to his lips in a second, hand curling around his cheek, a gesture which the other man leans in to. Jensen’s thumb brushes _ever_ so softly over the corner of Misha’s top lip. The skin’s been split and there’s three stitches in it, destroying the beauty of the cotton-candy coloured lips with harsh, taunting white lines.

The anger builds in him again. Starts in his stomach, works its way up his chest, into his arms, around his shoulders, down his spine, and sits there, heavy and taut. Misha must notice something change because he places his palm over Jensen’s on his cheek.

"Don’t do anything stupid." He says.

"’m not." Jensen replies, sliding his hand out gently, half of a plan already formulated in his mind.

"No. _No_ , okay? I hate it when you get that look in your eyes. You’re planning something." Misha accuses to Jensen’s back as the man stands and goes to wander over to the window, fingers rubbing over his lips, other hand on his hip, in thought.

Before he can do anything, he pocket beeps.

_How is he?_

Danneel.

 _Good. Busted lip, few scrapes, pretty sure some more injuries on his chest_ he replies.

 _Glad to hear it. He’ll be fine. He’s a trooper. Love you x_ She sends back and it brings a smile to his face because she’s right.

"Danneel?" Misha asks, eyes over Jensen’s head, watching the mute television in the corner of the room.

"How’d you know?"

Misha makes a wavy gesture with his hand. "You always get this look in your eye."

Jensen narrows his gaze, pockets his phone and strolls over to the bed, blocking Misha’s view.

"You have an awful lot to say about people’s eyes." He remarks, clambering over the bed to straddle Misha’s thighs. It works because now the man is paying full attention to him. Misha’s hands come to rest on Jensen’s thighs as Jensen’s hands come to rest at the junctures between his neck and shoulder, thumbs pushing up under Misha's jaw gently to assess the injuries. 

" _People’s_ eyes have a lot to say." He replies, gaze fond.

"What do mine say?" he blurts out and immediately regrets it. He never puts himself out there like this and now he knows why. It’s scary and Misha’s looking at him strangely. It doesn’t last long before he thinks _fuck it_ and pours every Misha-related emotion into his gaze.

The other man just blinks, assessing the way Jensen fidgets, before sliding his palm up to grip the front of his open shirt and pull him down to press their lips together.

The kiss is short and sweet and what they enjoy most is just breathing each other in afterwards; eyes closed, foreheads resting together, lips catching occasionally.

" _I love you._ " Misha whispers into his mouth. Jensen’s heart swells at the words.

"You know, when I heard about what happened to you, I-" he falters, the beginnings of tears forming behind his closed eyes. "I thought I’d _never_ be able to hear you say that again."

"I love you." Misha murmurs. "I love you, _I love you_."

"Yeah, okay, I get it." Jensen says with a small laugh as he starts to pull away but Misha tugs him in again and kisses him. Just like that. But it seems different this time. It’s desperate, urgent, _needy_.

"It’s okay." Jensen offers between breaths. "I’m still here."

"God- I can’t even- _fuck_ , I can’t-" Misha struggles. 

"Can’t what?" Jensen pulls away enough so he can see Misha’s face, forcing him to calm down and breathe. 

"I can’t do my panel." He says dejectedly, like it’s the end of the world and _he’s_ brought it on.

"Yeah, no shit Misha, have you seen yourself?"

It seems as if Misha’s getting better and better at imitating Sam’s bitchfaces as Jensen finds out half a second later when Misha throws him one.

"But people have paid so much money and they’re so excited and I’m just gonna let them down. I can’t do that."

"Dude. You got mugged. I’m pretty sure your fans will cut you some slack."

"But that’s not their fault-"

"And it’s not _your_ fault either. It’s those assholes who-"

"Fine." Misha cuts in. "But I’m still doing the photo ops."

Jensen sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. "With _that_ face?"

Misha punches him playfully in the gut. "I’m serious."

"It’s up to you."

Misha looks taken aback. "Really? Just like that?"

"What did you want me to say?"

" _No, you can’t do that. Don’t worry Misha, I’ll protect you from those scary muggers. I won’t let anyone hurt you_."

"I don’t sound _anything_ like that." Jensen denies and clambers off the bed gently to slip out his phone and send a message.

"You don’t know what you sound like. You’ve only heard yourself in recordings and through the vibration of the bone-"

"Yeah, yeah okay, braniac." he ruffles Misha's hair playfully. A few seconds later, his phone chimes and he’s smiles at the message Jared’s sent him back.

_Sure, np. Of course you can swap rooms with me. Just don’t tell me about anything that goes in there._

_No promises._ Jensen sends back. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, my Tumblr is [here](http://prettyboydean.tumblr.com)  
> Drop me a message, tell me what you thought - I'd really appreciate it :)


End file.
